Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,
Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay,
Round an holy calm diffusing,
Love of peace, and lonely musing,
In hollow murmurs died away.
Collins is Chichester's great poet. She had a very agreeable minor poet, too, in George Smith, one of the Three Smiths—all artists: William, born in 1707, painter of portraits and of fruit and flower pieces, and George and John, born in 1713 and 1717, who painted landscapes,—known collectively as the Smiths of Chichester. I mention them rather on account of George Smith's poetical experiments than for the brothers' fame as artists; but there is such a pleasant flavour in one at least of his Pastorals that I have copied a portion of it. It is called "The Country Lovers; or, Isaac and Marget going to Town on a Summer's Morning." The town is probably Chichester—certainly one in Sussex and near the Downs. Isaac speaks first:—
Come! Marget, come!—the team is at the gate!
Not ready yet!—you always make me wait!
I omit a certain amount of the dialogue which follows, but at last Marget exclaims:—
Well, now I'm ready, long I have not staid.
Isaac.
One kiss before we go, my pretty maid.
Marget.
Go! don't be foolish, Isaac—get away!
Who loiters now?—I thought I could not stay!
There!—that's enough! why, Isaac, sure you're mad!
Isaac.
One more, my dearest girl—
Marget.
Be quiet, lad.
See both my cap and hair are rumpled o'er!
The tying of my beads is got before!
